


Song of the Sea

by Whymsical



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arthur is the Queen of Clubs at the beginning oooo, Cardverse, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 11:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whymsical/pseuds/Whymsical
Summary: An unmarked Clubs Queen with a secret. A Spades King that can't help falling in love. A Clubs King desperate to hold onto what is his. A Spades Prince blinded by jealousy.Oh, and that secret? Big enough to send the two Kingdoms plunging into war if it were to come out.





	Song of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Smells Fishy.
> 
> Hello hello! Yet another new story that I don't have fully written out yet, but by golly I love this one so much. The beginning chapters are fleshed out and edited from an rp I did with my friend. ^0^
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this one! Please let me know what you think!

The Clubs castle had, for a day, become something more vibrant and beautiful than ever before. The cold King of the North had never held celebrations before – no birthdays, no weddings, no holidays or anniversaries – so it was a shock to every royal to receive an invitation, and even more so when they saw the event; the birthday of the Queen of Clubs.

People only knew the Queen’s name, Arthur Kirkland, and that he was a fair man with green eyes. Arthur never travelled outside of Clubs- or even outside of the castle, really. The Queen of Clubs was not even the true Queen, bearing no mark on his body, but since there hadn’t been a Chosen Queen for over a century, no one questioned the arrangement.

It seemed King Ivan had been lucky enough to marry for love…though the other royals couldn’t even remember receiving a wedding announcement.

Clubs Keep glittered in the evening, for once a warm gold instead of the cold blue of ice under the moonlight. The very air seemed warmer as well, though many of the guests still had cloaks and capelets draped over their shoulders. The party was in full swing in the Grand Ballroom, with tables of food and drink lining the walls and a band in the corner and a dance floor taking up the centre of the space. Laughter drifted to the ceiling, perhaps a bit muted for a celebration, but still there.

The Queen of Clubs inclined his head in thanks at yet another murmured congratulations and moved further along the room. He was dressed from head to toe in Clubs green and gold. His trousers and jacket were a deep, hunger green, while his gold-trimmed cloak was a more vibrant hue. Messy blond hair stuck out from underneath a heavy crown, and his gait was as smooth as the rolling waves.

He ignored the false King of Spades’ attempts to get his attention, his eyes rather trained on the similarly dressed figure exiting the room into the hallway. Curiosity piqued, he followed. He made no sound as he left, and couldn’t help rolling his eyes at what he eventually found.

The Spadian had stopped next to a mirror and was, for lack of a better word, _peacocking_ in front of it. Smiling and smirking to himself, running a hand down the side of his long dark blue and silver coat to smooth it down and momentarily allowing the rapier at his hip to be visible.

“The food had better be good,” he muttered, “for why else would I entertain myself with this miserable place? Even the inside seems frozen over.”

Arthur had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not a very kingly thing to say, is it?” he asked quietly, stepping closer. Of course he knew this man was the true King of Spades, and it wasn’t hard to see exactly what kind of person this King was; pompous, full of himself, a spoilt brat of a royal. “Especially out in the open, where anyone could hear.”

Those blue eyes locked onto Arthur’s figure through the mirror. The King of Spades ran his fingers through his low ponytail nonchalantly and didn’t bother turning around. “Perhaps it isn’t,” he replied, voice playful and recognizing no guilt. “A good King spins pleasant lies, but a great King speaks the truth. At least, that’s what my father always told me.”

“Hmm.” Arthur neither sounded nor looked impressed.

The other man finally turned to face him, offering a polite smile. “He also told me not many royals would agree with that.” The modest grin spread, revealing white teeth that contrasted with his tanned skin. “The Kingdom of Spades wishes you a happy birthday, even though it seems that you’re not enjoying too much of it. It’s a pleasure, Queen Arthur. Ivan has weaved many tales about you, and you are even lovelier than he gave you credit for.” He reached his hand out to the Queen, palm upward, was the custom.

For a moment, it seemed as though Arthur would refuse the King’s gesture and leave the hand hanging there, but eventually he reached out and delicately placed his hand atop the other man’s. This was definitely a child of a ruler, but Arthur knew he had to be at least polite, or he’d get it from Ivan later. _That’s the last thing I need, to top this whole farce off,_ he thought bitterly, but forced a smile onto his face. “Thank you for your wishes,” he replied, coolly if not a little coldly.

The Spadian King’s touch was surprisingly gentle on the Queen’s hand as he brought it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gloved back. He spoke a formality in Old Spadian before releasing the hand, pocketing his own deep into his coat. The bow had released a few strands of hair from his ponytail that now fell into his face- which would have made him look aloof if not for the smile.

Holding himself perfectly still, Arthur didn’t even look like he was breathing until he had been released.

The King kept on grinning. “Has dear King Ivan stepped on your feet one too many times to deserve to be left alone on the dance floor? He did have that habit, at least back when we were young.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I merely wished to step outside for a moment for some air. You need not worry yourself with Ivan’s dancing.” Despite himself, Arthur’s smile twisted into a smirk. “Though knowing your kind, I suppose if I’d given you the opportunity, you would have started waxing on about how great of a dancer _you_ are?”

“I learned my dances from the best,” the King replied, leaning his shoulder against the ice. “It seems I’ve been caught before my escape plan could come to fruition, so I could prove my prowess to you on the dance floor if you’d like, _my Queen_.”

He was talking, of course, about the false King of Spades that was weaving through the crowd back in the ballroom.

Arthur resisted the urge to snort. Yeah, this King was exactly what he’d expected. “Escape plan, hmm? And are you sure it’s wise to be telling me about that?” he asked, one of his eyebrows arching. “I could very well be offended that you find a party in my honour so dull. It would be the simplest thing to tell my…_loving King_ about the slight you’ve given us.” He completely ignored the offer to dance.

“Oh, that old boy would just laugh it off, don’t I know him,” the other man said, shrugging away the notion that anything bad might have come from his unorthodox behaviour. He glanced to Arthur. “If you want, I could take you with me.”

Arthur did let out a laugh at that. “Stealing away the Queen? You _are_ bold, my dear King of Spades. I can almost appreciate that.” He half-turned, smirking at the other royal and staring at him from half-lidded eyes. He definitely didn’t miss how the Spades King appeared dumbstruck for a moment. “Unfortunately, I will have to decline. I actually have duties to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me…” He started walking back towards the ballroom, though paused after just a few steps. “Pity you won’t be sticking around. Perhaps I would have taken you up on that dance later on. Though, this might be for the best. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me anyway,” he murmured, his smirk widening as he left the bait hanging there in front of the King’s open mouth and continued forward.

Confident that he’d be seeing more of the actual Spades King later on, Arthur weaved easily through the crowd. He ignored both servants and nobility, and took extra care to avoid the King of Diamonds. King Francis was an aggressive flirt with an abrasive personality that reminded Arthur too much of _him_\- the cause of all of Arthur’s troubles. And Arthur really didn’t want to cause a huge scene by punching another royal. Out of the corner of his eye he once again saw the false Spades King trying to get his attention, and was happy to ignore that man too. Though the thought of going up to the imposter did cross his mind briefly, he was just as quick to brush it away. There was no point, really. He’d met the real one already, for all that was worth.

He made a beeline for the refreshment tables instead, and especially the lone platter of salty mackerel and tuna. There were only a few pieces left, to his annoyance, and he was quick to snap them all up. Politeness be damned, saltwater fish were a delicacy. Ivan didn’t often allow them into the castle. Munching away on the last of the tuna, he allowed a neutral, almost content expression to settle over his face.

“Arthur,” a low voice murmured to him a few minutes later.

Arthur turned to meet Ivan’s violet eyes. His back stiffened. “Ivan.”

“Where were you? You vanished.” The Clubs King’s mouth stretched down into a soft pout.

“I didn’t go outside,” Arthur immediately snapped, though he kept his voice low enough that no one else would notice. “The air in here grew stifling.”

“It always gets stifling when you’re pressed into the corners. The dance floor looks like it has more room.” Ivan gave him a small, hopeful smile. “Dance with me, my Queen?”

The request was a simple one. Such a simple one, phrased so innocently, but Arthur knew better, and he couldn’t dare refuse. Instead, he returned a bland smile to the taller man. “Of course, my King. It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Ivan’s smile faded somewhat, though he still took hold of Arthur’s elbow and led him to the dance floor. Some of the murmuring voices hushed as royalty and nobility alike turned to watch the host King and Queen dance. The pair moved well together, if a bit rigidly. Arthur made no excess movements, no effort to dance with grace. He moved mechanically, like an automaton, and a few times it almost seemed like Ivan had to pull and tug him along. The King of Clubs watched him carefully as they spun and twirled.

“Arthur, please,” he whispered when the music shifted to a second song and nothing changed. He leaned in for a kiss.

At the last second, Arthur turned his face so Ivan’s lips pressed against his cheek. “You asked me to dance. I’m dancing.”

His mouth opened, but then Ivan just sighed and pouted again.

Arthur ignored him. His green eyes swept the crowd to where everyone not dancing was looking at them and seemed to be talking amongst themselves. He spotted the two Kings of Spades next to each other, the crown back on the rightful man’s head. Briefly, he wondered what a dance with the other King might look like. Would it be more or less of a farce than this? He waved the thoughts away and focused his gaze on the clasp of Ivan’s cloak as he waited for it to be over.

It seemed as if the man had heard his thoughts, because at the next quick break the musicians used to tune their instruments, there was a touch on his arm. Arthur flinched, then turned to meet the eyes of the King of Spades.

“I believe you owe me a challenge, fair Queen,” the blond man said, ignoring Ivan and the murmuring crowd around them.

Arthur’s expression didn’t betray any emotion. “My, how eager you are to lose,” he murmured. “It hasn’t even been an hour.” Then, seeming to remember himself, he glanced to Ivan. “May I?”

Glancing between the two of them, Ivan eventually nodded. His grip tightened on Arthur’s body. “We will dance more later?”

“…Of course.” Arthur smiled at him and then disentangled himself, stepping closer to the other King. “Very well, King Alfred. Let us see where those dances from the best left you.” He didn’t spare Ivan a glance as the Clubs King retreated to the side of the ballroom.

Alfred accepted Arthur’s hand and confidently led him to the centre of the dance floor. “Say,” he said, before the music started. “I couldn’t help but to notice the tension between you and your King. You are…alright, are you not?”

Arthur couldn’t help the small amount of warmth that coiled in his stomach at Alfred’s question. It was…sweet, even though it was sad that he had to ask it in the first place. “I’m fine,” he replied. “There is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I am unhurt, and this is my home.” He gave Alfred a polite, distant smile.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Alfred told him.

The music swelled and the Spadian King immediately took a strong lead in their dance. He moulded his steps to the music rather than a rigid pattern, and Arthur was so surprised that for a moment it was all he could do was follow. His body, lax with shock, was whirled and moved by Alfred’s will alone. Alfred wasn’t too forceful, though, and once Arthur had recovered he was able to push back against him. He spun faster and stepped out further, forcing Alfred to chase after him a little bit.

He didn’t stop there, stepping into Alfred’s personal space to force him in the direction that he wanted to go- almost as if he was trying to take the lead occasionally. To his surprise Alfred was game for it, following for a little while before tugging the lead back. A spin, followed by a dip, and Alfred was leaning over Arthur, smiling down at him warmly.

Arthur very pointedly tried to ignore the way his heart leapt, both at the dip and the sight of Alfred’s bright smile above him. His eyes slid to the side, and he allowed Alfred a few beats of control again while he composed himself. _Snap out of it, Arthur. Don’t you dare get any foolish ideas._ He rebalanced himself and seized the lead, spinning Alfred out even further than before, then reeling him back in until they all but crashed into each other. He barely gave Alfred time to breathe before they were moving again, whirling around the perimeter of the dance floor.

“You’re not doing as badly as I feared you would, I’ll admit,” he said, smirking up at the King. “But this dancing is still nothing special.” The dancing he really loved, really poured his heart and soul into, he hadn’t been able to do in what felt like eons. It was slowly fading from his memory. Arthur roughly dipped the taller man to distract himself, his green eyes gleaming in the light of the chandeliers.

“Oh, well thank you, Your Majesty,” Alfred replied, his voice teasing, before a ‘whoa’ escaped his lips at the dip. He laughed loudly as he came back up, and smiled even louder. They moved away from one another, hands still linked, and when they came back together Alfred used the opportunity to take back the dance, pulling the Queen a little bit closer than when they had started and adjusting his pace to the slower melody that now played. “My offer to steal you away still stands, Queen Arthur. There are many dances out there to be danced, for fun, not for a good show for a bunch of stuck-up nobles who see us as walking bags of gold.”

At this, however, Arthur’s energy diminished somewhat, and the line of his shoulders grew rigid. Alfred was foolish, true, and childish, and _bright_ and _warm_, but he was also dangerous. Unquestionably dangerous. The Clubs Queen had forgotten himself, his place. Arthur’s relief was palpable as the music faded, and he stopped his dancing when they were off to the side.

“And how do you know,” he asked quietly, removing himself from Alfred’s hold, “that I haven’t been stolen already?” For the first time in his life, he was glad to see Ivan waving him over. “It seems I’m being summoned. Thank you for the dance, now please excuse me.”

Inclining his head to Alfred, he then spun around on his heel and strode to his King’s side. This time when Ivan’s arm snaked around Arthur’s shoulders, his face didn’t betray any expression at all.

“I wish you’d dance like that with me,” Ivan mused.

Arthur didn’t respond, and luckily Ivan didn’t press him to. Instead, they did another round of the room, Ivan chatting with various nobility and Arthur trying not to look too bored. The Jack of Hearts gave him a sympathetic glance when they passed, though Arthur’s returning look was quite chilly. He didn’t need sympathy. He didn’t need pity. Anger and hatred fuelled him, would keep him going until the time was right.

“Alfred!” Ivan called, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. “Matthew! I haven’t properly introduced my Queen to you- well, at least to one of you.” He glanced curiously to Alfred, and his grip on Arthur was almost possessive.

Turning his attention to Matthew, Arthur gave a stiff bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” Matthew replied, offering a bow in return.

Alfred stuck his hands into the pockets of his cloak and gave Ivan a questioning look. “King Ivan, I’m perplexed that you didn’t invite us to the wedding! Surely a loving couple like yourselves must have had a grand celebration!”

Sighing softly, Matthew elbowed his brother in the ribs. “What he meant to say,” he said with an apologetic smile, “was that we regret missing such an occasion and wish we could have given our congratulations to the couple at the proper time.”

Ivan shifted on his feet. “Yes, well-”

“There was no wedding,” Arthur said shortly. “We aren’t married.”

“Arthur…” Ivan peered mournfully down at his Queen, and his brows furrowed even more when he was ignored.

“There are also no plans for marriage in the future.” Arthur’s voice was low and firm. “I am Queen in name, and Ivan is my King, but marriage between us is inconceivable.”

The two Spadians glanced between each other for a long while. “Well, I hope your rule is fruitful despite this,” Matthew finally said after a moment.

“Thank you. Ivan isn’t as much of an idiot as his predecessors, so I’m sure that under his rule Clubs will begin to return more to its former glory,” Arthur said sweetly, glancing up at Ivan. “Isn’t that right, love?” His smile was razor sharp.

Ivan looked uncomfortable for a moment, before his eyes hardened. “Where is your coat, Arthur?”

Arthur’s expression darkened. The power play between them was multi-layered and nuanced, but the Queen knew when he he’d stepped out of bounds. “I’m afraid I misplaced it, my King,” he gritted out. “I apologize.” Shifting his attention to Matthew and Alfred, he bowed to them again. His eyes lingered on the Spades King’s features for a touch longer than necessary. “Some of the nobles are looking quite ignored. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go…entertain them.”

He all but wrenched his arm from Ivan’s grip and stalked away, back towards the food tables. There was nothing left that interested him, but if he was at least nibbling on something, most of the nobility would leave him alone. Most.

“Queen Arthur,” someone said.

Arthur’s mood further darkened when he turned around and spotted one of the older Clubs Lords behind him. “Can I help you?”

The man smiled thinly. “I was hoping I would be able to snag a dance with the False Queen before the night was over.”

“Don’t call me that, and you just might,” Arthur replied stiffly.

“Of _course_, of course, Your Majesty.” The Lord reached out and snatched up Arthur’s hands, dragging him to the dance floor. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I’m a bit rusty. It’s been so long since I’ve last danced, and even longer since my last one with you.”

“Not long enough,” Arthur muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I said, it’s been long enough, since Clubs had something to celebrate.”

“Indeed.” The Lord yanked Arthur more tightly against himself. “Don’t you get bored here?”

Arthur eyed the man sharply. “What’s your point?”

“You seem…agitated. Frustrated.”

“I wonder why.” The Queen bit back a growl as he was pulled even closer to the older man’s body.

“The Blizzard Council still isn’t sure what involvement you might have had in King Petr’s death.”

One of Arthur’s eyebrows arched. “Are you accusing your Queen without proof?”

“You bear no mark. You are not Clubs’ true Queen.”

“And yet I’ve been crowned. I suggest you don’t overstep your boundaries, Lord Morozov.”

The Lord gave a cruel smile. “And I suggest you don’t forget what you are, _pet_.”

Arthur wrenched himself free. “Don’t you dare call me that,” he spat, no longer able to keep his expression neutral.

Nearly everyone in the room turned to look at them. Disgusted but also embarrassed at the scene, he whirled away and stalked towards the doors.

“Arthur!” Ivan called, hurrying to intercept him and leaving a confused Alfred and Matthew in his wake.

Arthur shot him a glare cold enough to stop the King in his tracks before continuing out of the room. Though part of him was curious as to Alfred’s exact expression, he didn’t allow himself to look. He didn’t allow himself to hope.

His hands clenched tightly at his sides when he finally managed to escape the ballroom. _‘This will be a good opportunity,’_ the Blizzard Council had promised. Arthur snorted. Good opportunity for what? Parading him around? Pushing him until he snapped and did something to embarrass Clubs? There was little love lost between the Council and the Queen. They’d always disliked the fact Arthur had been crowned, and he’d always hated them by virtue of their humanity. Ivan’s fondness of him protected Arthur from them, but also kept him trapped in Clubs.

He growled and slammed the door to the royal baths shut behind him. One of the pools was soon filled with lukewarm water and Arthur fell back into it, clothes and all. Only beneath the water was he able to relax a little bit, and time slipped away from him as he soaked. The water was freezing by the time he finally rose out of it. He stripped from the damp clothes, leaving them in a sopping pile by the poolside, and put on a thin white nightgown after rubbing a towel through his hair.

It wasn’t long after that he stalked through the gardens, his sandy hair gleaming almost silver under the light of the full moon. His feet were bare as he stole along the snow-dusted path. The weather had been a touch milder than usual so there was only about an inch of snow on the ground, but it was still enough for him to leave a trail of footprints. The thin fabric of the nightgown shivered and bowed against the wind, but Arthur still walked confidently towards the far corner of the castle grounds.

The old Astronomer’s Tower speared the sky near the joining of the northern and eastern walls. It was also known as the Old Tower and the North Tower; lately, ‘Queen’s Tower’ and ‘Monster’s Tower’ had been added to the list of names. No one stopped Arthur along the way, and there was no one inside the tower to meet him. He’d claimed it as his own, and everyone within the castle walls knew it. The Queen climbed the one hundred and fifty steps alone, lit a few candles in the empty room at the top, and then stepped out onto the balcony to commence his nightly vigil.

“You’ll freeze to your death here yet,” a voice murmured sometime later, warm hands draping a heavy cloak over his shoulders.

Stiffening at the touch, Arthur’s eyes jerked from the far horizon to focus on Alfred’s face. When he recognized the Spadian King he relaxed a little bit, though his expression was still wary as he assessed the situation. His arms moved up, fingers trailing through the fur trimmings. Goosebumps rippled across his skin from the shift in temperature.

“Alfred. What are you doing here? This is yours, you should wear it. You’re not as used to the cold as I am.” He started shrugging the cloak off.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me,” Alfred said, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I basically grew up on the seas and docks. These little inland breezes have nothing on a good ol’ storm out on the open sea.” He reached out, only to pull the cloak tighter around Arthur’s shoulders.

Despite himself, Arthur managed a small smirk. “Oh trust me, I know how rough the seas can get.” Even if he hadn’t felt it in ages, and most certainly had a different perspective. He turned his head to the side, eyes seeking out the horizon once more, though he didn’t step away from Alfred’s body.

“I wanted to check on you, too,” Alfred continued. “I uh- Ivan seemed pretty upset, heh, at me too when I told him he should maybe lay off the awkward attempts at husband emulation. I know he can be a bit rash, so I dunno. I guess I got a bit worried when I saw you marching through snow barefoot.”

Arthur’s hands fisted in the fabric of the cloak. “Ivan seemed upset, did he?” he spat, anger simmering within his expression. “Did Ivan send you here as well? Are you his spy now? If so, then kindly fuck off. I neither need nor want your forced concern.”

“I am nobody’s spy, _Queen Arthur_. I did not have to leave my nice and warm chambers to trudge through snow and walk up stairs to check on you, and I certainly wouldn’t do all of this if Ivan had asked me to. I am half-blind, my feet are soaked from the snow, and my hair has never seen a worse day- yet I’m still here, offering you my _concern_.” Alfred ran a hand through his tangled hair. “By the Mage, you are difficult. If you don’t want me here, just say so and I’ll go back between my silken sheets and forget I scaled half the castle and most of the courtyard by hearing because – imagine – I was worried about you.”

Arthur couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter. The merriment shook his frame and echoed in the still air. After a moment, he lifted part of the cloak to cover his mouth and try to stifle it. Really, how much more spoilt could someone get? Immediately moaning about silken sheets and damp shoes and _a bad hair day_. Oh, that had certainly made Arthur’s night. Slowly, his laughs faded away and he took a few deep breaths. His eyes slid over to meet Alfred’s annoyed gaze, then focused on the banister of the balcony.

The Queen released the cloak and placed his hands instead into the inch or so of snow gathered there. “Why were you worried?” he asked softly. “I am not your Queen, so why do you care? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Should I not care for my brother because he is not my Queen? Should I not care for my people because they aren’t royalty? Should I turn a deaf ear to the calls of the occupied Kingdoms because they are not on my land? You are not my Queen, but neither are you Ivan’s, and if not him, then there must be someone else to worry about you. Being forgotten is a fate worse than many other.”

Arthur’s fingertips scraped against the stone of the banister. He ignored the burning pain that shot up his forearms. “I _am_ Ivan’s Queen. For better or worse, I am the current Queen of Clubs, so don’t you dare say otherwise. As to being forgotten, well. I think I would prefer that path to the one I’ve been forced to follow.”

“For worse, considering your King is courting a Prince of Spades,” Alfred said, his voice seeping with bitterness. He reached out a moment later, laying his hand softly on Arthur’s. “What’s going on in this castle? It feels like everyone is miserable here.”

The touch startled Arthur out of his thoughts. He shook away questions like _It was a good thing, right?_ and _Would he be replaced if Ivan and Matthew took things further?_ and _Would he lose the only bargaining chip he had?_ and had to avert his gaze. If he looked into those bright blue eyes for too long he might spill everything, and then it really would be the end.

“Everyone _is_ miserable here,” he managed to say with a somewhat steady voice. “After all, we live in eternal winter.” By that point his feet and hands had gone numb from the cold, and his lips were taking on a blue tint.

“Your people make the best of it. Those who remain, anyway,” Arthur said, before gently taking Arthur’s hand off the cold stone and into his own, warm fingers trying to rub some heat back into the frozen skin. “We should get you inside,” he murmured. “The guests are all gone by now and the King is busy in his study. You should be able to relax in the warmth.”

But Arthur shook his head. “No, I’d like to stay here a bit longer.” He shivered at the contact between them, watching how Alfred’s fingers moved against his skin. “I can never relax in there. This is the only place I feel…” _Free._ “You don’t have to stay with me. If you wish to go back to your comforts, then go ahead.”

“Very well. I’ll stay too, in that case.” The young King took the Queen’s other hand as well and moved closer to him, offering body heat that seemed to outlast any cold weather that Clubs could throw at him. He remained silent after that, watching the stars as his fingers kneaded Arthur’s delicate skin, trying to keep it from completely freezing.

Arthur lifted his eyes to Alfred’s face then, taking in the planes and shadows of his features under the light of the night sky. “We can at least share the cloak, can we not?” He slipped his hands from Alfred’s and slung the heavy cloth around the taller man’s shoulders as well, then slowly stepped even closer to him until they were nearly flush together. Afterward, he ducked back under the edge of it, and his hands automatically reached for Alfred’s again. “Ah.” He froze before he could touch him, though. “Is this alright?”

Though Alfred had tensed at the closeness, and momentary shock and surprised flitted across his face, he was soon smiling. He positioned Arthur so they could both hide in the cover of the warm fabric. His smile widened and became more encouraging when he saw Arthur’s hesitation, and he closed the distance between their hands himself.

“Quite. Let’s try to keep you warm, hm?” he murmured, thumbs now trailing more meandering patterns into that pale skin, careful and appreciative as if bent on learning all there was to Arthur’s hands.

Warmth coiled in Arthur’s belly the moment his hands were cradled within Alfred’s again. It felt foreign, but not unwelcome. For a while, he watched their joined hands, but before long his gaze was pulled towards the mountains. “If I look long and hard enough,” he confessed, his voice barely audible, “it sometimes feels as though I’m able to see the ocean again from here.”

Alfred followed Arthur’s eyes to the mountains, beyond which the Devil’s Sea lay, frozen over and desolate of life. “Did you live by the sea before?” he asked.

“Yes, you could say I did.”

“It’s gorgeous this time of year, isn’t it?”

“I…think I remember it being so. I haven’t seen it in so long I confess it’s fading from my memory.”

Alfred hummed. “The fish swim so close to the surface that the water looks as if it were made of pure silver, and the spring storms clean away any filth. It smells fresh, like a new beginning. Like home.” He then chuckled, squeezing Arthur’s freezing hands more tightly. “A bit like you.”

Arthur’s fingers twitched, and one of his eyebrows arched high as he tilted his head up to glance at Alfred’s face again. “I smell like home? Well that’s highly unlikely. Are you sure the cold isn’t getting to you?”

Alfred laughed. “You smell like the sea, Art,” he said, grinning. “Y’know, a little fishy.”

“How rude of you,” Arthur said, though his tone was still light. He smiled a bit more as he eased one of his hands free and used it to scoop up some snow. In a flash he had deposited it onto Alfred’s face, practically cupping the Spades King’s cheek as he pressed the snow to his skin. “Also, my name is not ‘Art’.”

Alfred, master of all combat, failed to see the attack coming. He gasped, quickly scraping the freezing snow off his skin and pressing what he could salvage against Arthur instead. He grinned at Arthur’s gasp. “Your nickname is,” he said, chuckling and, a little sheepishly, took to brushing the rest of the snow off Arthur’s cheek. “King Alfred the Rude? Sounds as good as anything.”

Arthur couldn’t help laughing at their antics. What were they, children? The whole situation was foolish, but…he found he didn’t really mind. “It certainly fits you,” he teased, leaning the tiniest bit into Alfred’s fingers while they were still against his skin.

They seemed to curl a little more, caressing him, before Alfred took his hand away. “but really, why not visit it then, if you’re forgetting what the sea is like? Surely you could take a diplomatic trip to the Spades shores? It’s beautiful there, and the people are nice.”

As warm as his insides had gotten from the nickname and the gentle brush of Alfred’s fingers against his cheek, Arthur’s core flared hotter still at the offer. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself; it had been a long, long while since spending time, alone, in such close quarters with a man had left him so relaxed. So…longing for more. He adjusted the edge of the cloak so it rose higher around his shoulders, covering his cheeks reddened from the snow and the warmth he felt inside.

But…

“As tempting as your offer of a visit sounds, it would be impossible. I’m not- I’m unable to leave here.” The Queen bit down on his lip. _Well that sounds suspicious- shit._ “I made…a promise to Ivan, and I intend to keep it. But thank you.” He offered Alfred a small, slightly sad smile.

Alfred’s own smile dulled as he averted his gaze, as if realizing the intimate atmosphere between them. He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t have the magic to gift you a likeness of the sea,” he said, slipping back into a more formal manner, “but I will remember to bring you something back from it when I return to Clubs.”

Arthur’s back stiffened. After so long of being so observant of the men around him, he caught the shift within the King instantly. The realization was like a handful of snow shoved against his back, and his own smile fell away. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he told him, stepping out from underneath the cloak. “I tend to stay up here for hours. Really, you should return to your chambers now. You’ll have a long journey home tomorrow.”

Alfred sighed when he found himself alone against the cold once more. “Arthur,” he began, then hesitated, then stepped after the Queen, catching him by the waist and pulling him close. “I wish our circumstances were different, my Queen, but I will come back for you, even if just to lay my eyes on you again,” he vowed, releasing Arthur once he’d finished speaking. He threw his cloak over Arthur’s shoulders and gave him a dashing Spadian smile as he moved towards the stairs. “Just give it back to me next time, kay?”

This time it was Arthur who moved after Alfred, reaching out to catch him by the wrist. His eyes were wider than usual, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears. What was he doing, what was he doing? “My King, I-”

In a moment of selfishness, he adjusted the cloak more snugly around his shoulders instead of giving it back. He _wanted_ Alfred to return for him. He wanted what Alfred was promising, despite the fear humming in his veins. In his heart. As Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur leaned up and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the King’s cheek. His cold lips brushed more against beard than skin, and were gone after not even a second had passed.

“Thank you, for both your concern and your company. It wasn’t _awful_ spending time with you, I suppose,” he said, his lips quirking upward.

“I guess I didn’t have too awful of a time, either,” he replied, resting his hand on Arthur’s for a moment. Then, as if the King had been left behind so easily, he grinned and in a thick accent more suited for the fields than a castle said, “I’ll see ya ‘round, Art.” With a wave over his shoulder he was then gone, trudging back towards the main castle.

Oh heavens above, Alfred would actually be the end of him. Arthur buried his face into the warm cloak and let out a groan. That accent, and that _goddamn nickname_. It was infuriating and somewhat frightening how quickly Alfred was slipping past all of his carefully erected and maintained barriers. The Queen watched the King’s small figure on the ground until he was gone from sight, and then let out a sigh as he once more turned towards the mountains. The sea was there, just beyond them. Arthur could almost feel it singing to him, but he could neither hear it nor leave his gilded cage to answer.

He only left the tower when the moon started sinking low in the sky and slipped back into the castle with only a few guards for witnesses. The heavy cloak was stowed in the very back of his wardrobe, and when he finally slid into bed, he fell asleep to the burn in his limbs as warmth returned to them.

In the morning he watched from his bedroom balcony as the Spadian procession left. Matthew led the small column, the King’s prize war steed tied to the Prince’s young Arabian. The King himself was draped over the neck of his mount, as if an exotic pelt that snored very, very loudly. Arthur could even hear a few from his balcony before the group left the castle grounds, and he smiled.

If he allowed himself to think that Alfred’s tired state was due to him, well, there was no one there to bear witness or argue.


End file.
